


Drifts

by VSSAKJ



Category: Tales of Symphonia
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-14
Updated: 2019-02-14
Packaged: 2019-10-17 18:47:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,237
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17565983
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VSSAKJ/pseuds/VSSAKJ
Summary: “You should never have been born.”Would she have said those things if she’d known she was going to live?





	Drifts

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Gargant](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gargant/gifts).



> Happy Chocobox! I hope you enjoy this little glimpse into what may have happened in the hours after Mylene is miraculously not killed by Seles's mother. I don't think I've answered any of your questions to do with this actual prompt, but hopefully it's to your liking all the same! I had a great time working it out.

_“You should never have been born.”_

Since this afternoon, the world has seemed muffled in an unnatural silence. As Mylene lies in bed, studying the ceiling of her chamber, even her breathing strikes her unnaturally loud—almost like it doesn’t belong here. Soured on her own thoughts, she turns her gaze instead to the window, where snow hunches on the sill like a stalking wolf, prepared to pounce. Would that the snow _could_ rip out her throat, she thought.

Would she have said those things if she’d known she was going to live?

It’s the question that keeps coming to the forefront of her mind; every time she thinks she’s managed to direct her thoughts elsewhere, it pushes forward to fill the silence again. She’s said nothing but the truth—she believes it utterly, even though she knows they’re words no mother should speak to their own child. They’re words that no real mother should even _think_ , regardless of how true they are. But she’s never been his real mother anyway, has she?

The window rattles, the gust of wind whistling a swirl of snow crystals against it; light and sparkling, they remind her of the shine in Zelos’s eyes before the attack happened. Zelos had been smiling, she recalls—it was the first time in his life that he’d seen snow.

It had been the moment she found herself lunging in front of a torrent of magic meant to slay him that she realised he’s gotten old. Oh, still a child, certainly, but an upright little boy now, with confidence and opinions of his own. A whole tiny person, instead of just the beginning of one.

It’s hardly his fault that she can’t love him; it’s not his fault she just wishes she could.

The door to her chamber creaks, and Mylene turns her attention towards it, shifting her position to fold her hands across her lap. Leaning against her headboard, she’s surprised by how little pain she feels. Her lip curling, she reminds herself that she _should_ be surprised she’s laying here unprotected after the attack today, but she isn’t. It isn’t her life that’s valuable, after all.

“Are you well, Lady Mylene?” Sebastian crosses the room without waiting for her reply, placing a tidy silver tray on her bedside table.

“Fine.” It’s a nothing answer as Mylene reaches for the mug, foregoing the handle to wrap her fingers around the hot ceramic. She winces as the heat burrows into her fingers, and squeezes tighter. “How is he?”

“Asleep at last.” Sebastian replies, one hand resting on his breast; Mylene presses her lips together, but does not interrupt as he goes on, “He’s asked after you. He’s quite frightened.”

She turns her face away, feeling her eyes narrow. “That bitch tried to kill him. Of course he is.”

Sebastian cleared his throat. “With all due respect, he’s advised that he’s afraid he’ll never see you again.”

Mylene squeezes the mug in her grip ever tighter, glad she can’t see the expression on Sebastian’s face. Without looking at him, she says, “I’m tired. Please leave me for the night.”

In the corner of her eye, she can see him make a motion and then turn to leave. Outside, the wind howls like an animal.

 

Mylene lays her hands against the heavy wooden door and exhales long and deep before pushing it open. As she leans it closed behind her, she gazes around the faintly-lit room, marvelling at the size of it. She’s avoided it for so long that it seems like a foreign place, despite the fact that it’s the room where her son spends most of his time. Zelos sprawls in a bed much too big for him, twisted up in the sheets and dotted with sweat.

He looks like a child in the throes of a nightmare, not the wretched product of nightmares all her own.

Mylene eases a chair across the floor, careful not to wake him, and sits primly on its edge, watching him. His chest rises and falls, rises and falls, and his mouth crumples in a pained expression. Beneath his shirt, she can faintly see the outline of the gem embedded in his chest: the damnable gem that marks him as a Chosen.

Mouth set, she gently—hesitantly—reaches out and pushes back the hair stuck to his sweaty brow.

Zelos inhales sharply and his eyes snap open; when he stops looking around and focuses on her face, his expression of panic melts away into confusion, and Mylene’s heart seizes up with guilt and shame. He draws himself into a ball and shuffles backward from her touch.

Mylene makes herself smile then, knowing the expression’s thin. “You were very brave today.”

Zelos blinks roundly, mumbling into his knees.

“I’m not dead.” She shakes her head and replies, digging her fingers into her knees.

“Then why did you come see me?” Zelos’s eyes flash with defiance. “In my dr– Mylene never comes to see me. I thought maybe she would if she was a ghost instead.”

Mylene opens her mouth to speak, but Zelos’s eyes well with tears. He rubs them away with his fist, sticking out his lower lip in a pout. His chin trembles as he speaks, but the words are firm. “Mylene hates me.”

“I don’t hate you, Zelos.”

“You said so.” His words are accusatory, jabbing her like needles.

“That isn’t what I said.”

“That’s what it means.”

“No, it isn’t!” Mylene finds herself standing as she snaps, and bites her tongue as his eyes go round with fear. She makes herself sit down again, pressing her fingers into her forehead, and then looks out the window near his bedside, speaking to the snow. “I wanted to have children, not a Chosen. I wanted my own son. I wanted my own life. As you get older, you’ll understand that.”

She dares to glance at him again; his eyes are still wide, but he’s listening. He’s uncurled ever so slightly—maybe he’s starting to relax.

She sighs, standing up again. “With you, I didn’t get a choice. Like me, there are going to be times in your life when you want to choose one thing and you have to choose something else.” He still doesn’t speak, so she looks around the room until she spies a discarded pair of boots, a crumpled jacket, and a loop of a scarf. She collects them in her arms and turns around, stretching her mouth into that thin smile again, “But for now, Zelos... let’s choose for ourselves. Let’s go have the day you wanted, while no one’s watching.”

He inhales, crawling forward to the edge of the bed. He hovers there, halfway between trusting her and rejecting her—she doesn’t deserve him to forgive her, not even for tonight. Mylene doesn’t think he ever will, not truly. They’re still words no mother should ever say, and she said them.

She gestures with the scarf. “Come on. You don’t want to go back to sleep. It’s still snowing out there.”

He springs forward, scrabbling for his boots first. He’ll be too cold in his pajamas, even with the coat and scarf. So will she. But none of that matters, because when he reaches up to take the scarf from her hands, he’s grinning. He’s her little boy, just for tonight.

Just until the snow melts, she’ll allow herself to be his mother.


End file.
